


SSHG Drabbles

by voxangelus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crookshanks, F/M, Grey, Pink - Freeform, blender, bluffin with my muffin, feather duster, lyrics, malfunction, mojitos, soiree, tendre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various drabbles featuring Snape/Granger</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bluffin With my Muffin

Severus was unsure how an innocuous little device such as the small pink rectangle he held in his hand could deliver earwormy songs via the little string-like “earphones” with such astonishing clarity and ease.

Muggles had some strange music, that was for sure. He was delighted to find some of the music he heard on his summers home from school on the emm-pee-three player—Queen, ABBA, and the Beatles were often a welcome respite from the strange, newer things he found Hermione liked to listen to.

For example, this “Lady Gaga.” He had to admit he’d found himself almost… dancing once or twice to the songs on that playlist. Well, he had tapped his foot. And he had thought The Beatles had the market cornered on cryptic phrases in their music! It seemed like this woman’s entire catalogue was nothing but innuendo. Maybe he could get Hermione to show him a better picture on the computer later, if he could couch it as curiosity—the album cover was just a face behind giant sunglasses.

He thought he had most of his favorite song, “Poker Face”, figured out, but there was one phrase he just wasn’t sure about. What the hell did “I’m just bluffin’ with my muffin” mean?


	2. Notice

From my vantage point on the hill, I can see her twirling on the shore of the lake with an open bottle of elf-made wine in her hand. Another bottle glints from a few yards away, empty and discarded. 

Foolish girl. No. If I had judged the situation that led to Hermione Granger's inebriated state correctly, she wasn't the fool. Nor was she a girl. 

Snatches of a Muggle pop song drifted up to me, something about red, red wine. 

The ridiculous 10-year Victory Ball was still going on up at the castle. Granger had come alone and had put on a brave face. She answered the nosy reporters' questions with grace and poise. She looked absolutely stunning. Everybody noticed her gown, but not the look in her eyes. When Weasley showed up with a bleached blonde tramp on his arm, she lost her composure. It was only for a moment. I doubt anyone else would have noticed - but I did.

I notice everything about her. 

I notice how she's tamed her ridiculous hair by cropping it short. Instead of a bush on her head, she has ringlets. 

I notice how she looks worse after weekends away from the castle, rather than better. 

I notice how subdued she's been these past few months. 

I start to head down the hill. I'll be damned if I stand by and just notice her heartbreak.


	3. Peer Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus overindulges.

“Hermione, you know I can’t resist peer pressure!” Severus slurred, leaning heavily on his wife for support.

“I suppose you ought to have considered your proclivity for drinking pitcher-fulls of Smithwicks with Harry before inviting him to join us on our first night out in ages!” Hermione snapped, gripping him solidly and turning on her heel to Apparate them home.

Hermione dismantled the wards with her wand in her free hand and dumped Severus in the closest armchair with a huff. Debating for a moment on making him more comfortable, she decided against it and stalked off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Severus, Hermione, Harry, or Smithwicks. 
> 
> This may or may not be based on real life events.


	4. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GS100 "grey nightshirt" challenge.

She stared listlessly out at the dark, the on-call mediwizard’s voice echoing in her skull.

 

…did everything we could… terribly sorry, Madam Snape… likely he didn’t feel a thing…

 

She was numb. She sat in the window seat, dressed in his old gray nightshirt, trying to forget.

Ginny, who’d come to be with her, set down a mug of tea.

Hermione glanced at the tea Ginny had made. It was in Severus’ favorite mug.

She worried the hem of the nightshirt, but couldn’t bring herself to pick up the tea.

“That’s Severus’ mug,” she said quietly, and burst into tears.


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Frizzy-Haired, Human Slave:

The season of Love is upon us.

Last year, you forgot to feed me for three days. Three days! You’re lucky that I’m an accomplished mouser and not a weak kitten without any hunting skills.

This year, before you go on your little romantic getaway with He Who Gives Treats On the Sly, make sure my food bowl is full and you charm my water to stay fresh. If you don’t, I will cough up hairballs in those tall leather boots you so covet. I may also leave one on your pillow.

Happy freaking Valentine’s Day,

Crookshanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HermioneWeasley is to blame for the prompt: A non-human celebrates Valentine's Day. How does it look from a owl/cat/rat etc perspective?
> 
> I'm sarcastic today, so here is the result. I don't own it, of course.


	6. Knife Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kitchen is short-staffed, and Master Chef Snape requires assistance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Severus, Hermione, house-elves, mother sauces, santouku knives or herringbone trousers.

“Where are my courgettes?!” 

“Just finishing them up now, Seve… er, I mean, Chef,” Hermione answered from the prep counter, her santouku knife a blur on the chopping board. Merlin, how she hated nights when the restaurant staff called off or went on vacation. She never would have pushed for house-elf rights had she known she’d be at the beck and call of the wizarding world’s most demanding master chef. It was indignity enough to have to wear herringbone-patterned trousers that made her arse look enormous, but to have to call her husband “Chef” and bow and scrape to his every whim was torture.

“I know I taught you better knife skills than that at Hogwarts, Madam Snape. There are orangutans at the London Zoo who have more competency with a blade. Leave the prep station to Jilly and attend the sauces. I trust you remember how to use a spoon!”

Hermione scowled and made faces behind his back as she wound her way through the skeleton crew of elves. Soon, she had several saucepots going, a charmed spoon or whisk at work in each one. Just let him find fault with her veloute or her béarnaise. Orangutans with better knife skills, indeed. 

The evening wore on, extraordinarily busy for a weeknight. The evening’s special required a white wine pan sauce with rosemary and just a splash of cream, which kept Hermione quite busy, since it could not be prepared in large batches ahead of time. 

Finally, the last of the customers were drawing out their evening over espresso or chocolate pot du crème. Hermione sent her saucepots, spoons, and whisks to the dishwashing station and accepted a large glass of Bordeaux from the house Sommelier before dropping into the armchair she insisted Severus keep in his office.

“Who said you were done, Madam Snape?” 

“I did. Why in buggering hell did you choose such a touchy special this evening? You knew you’d end up putting me on sauces because you can’t resist the urge to sneer at my knife skills. Just like last week, when you couldn’t resist sneering at my imperfect grill marks.” She huffed. “Why don’t you just admit that none of the elves can keep ten saucepots going at once with proper temperature, stirring speed, and consistency?”

Master Chef Snape simply arched his eyebrow, sat back, and sipped his espresso. He’d never tell his wife the real reason he had her work in the restaurant every Tuesday evening. It had nothing to do with being short-staffed and nothing to do with her skills with knives, sauces, or charms.

He just couldn’t resist the way her arse looked in chequered trousers.


	7. Icing Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday surprise

It is a dark and snowy night.

The students of Hogwarts are nestled snug in their beds, curtains pulled tight to ward off the cold and the boogeyman. 

Severus Snape is stalking the halls, his bat-cape swirling and whirling behind him. None dare disturb the Potions master’s nighttime stalk, and the Potions master never takes a night off. Even on… his birthday. 

Snape doesn’t expect anyone to remember his birthday, except for the Headmistress. Having received his yearly allotment of Glenfidditch and Ginger Newts at breakfast this morning, Snape knows there will be no surprises. The rest of the staff hardly notices him, and nobody else would know his birthday.

He rounds the corner near the entrance to the kitchens and tickles the pear in the painting to gain entry. A nice cup of tea will be just the thing before he heads back down to his cold, lonely dungeons, maybe with some of those chocolate biscuits the elves so excel at making. But instead of a reassuringly floral-patterned china teapot and cup, there is a cake on his usual table. A very large, very obnoxious, very rose-covered cake, suspiciously bearing his name atop it. 

Before he can begin to call them, several of the kitchen elves scurry over with his tea tray. One snaps her fingers, and a second table is conjured, along with a very comfortable armchair. He opens his mouth to speak, but is immediately shushed. As he pours himself a cup of the fragrant tea, he thinks he hears a feminine giggle emanating from the region of the cake.

Before he can raise the cup of tea to his lips, the top of the cake explodes and a woman comes popping up. Severus has no words for the sight before him—Professor Granger, with frosting in her hair. And dear lord, are those Royal icing roses over her nipples? And nothing else? He’s sure he’s fallen somewhere in the corridors and hit his head very badly on a lurking gargoyle, because deliciously plump, curvy, and naked Arithmancy professors do not jump out of cakes on his birthday. It’s a rule, written somewhere before the beginning of time: “Severus Snape shall never have naked ladies in a birthday cake”—he’s sure of it.

He watches, transfixed, as she shimmies her way out of the cake, wearing nothing on her bottom half but an abbreviated pair of French silk knickers and a pair of thigh-high stiletto boots. He’s not so naïve as to not know what boots like that say. She offers her hand to him, nods to the bystanding house-elf, and they find themselves in his sitting room with a snap of Mippy’s fingers.

 

The next morning, they have leftover birthday cake for breakfast. And the students who take advantage of Snape’s office hours from that day on wonder why there are two lurid pink icing roses under a preservation charm on his desk—but none of them dare ask.


	8. Malfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus has a problem with his kitchen appliances. How will he solve the problem?

Severus sat at the kitchen table, glaring at his blender. 

It was, admittedly, an older model—but beautiful, still. All shiny chrome with aqua plastic accents. A gift to his parents when they married from a Snape cousin. It had been used for everything from blending milkshakes to margaritas, smoothies to soup. But it looked like it had finally given up the ghost. 

At the worst possible time. 

Severus was having… a soiree. Party would be incorrect, as he did not intend things to get out of hand. But it was a gathering. People had come, and willingly so, to help him celebrate moving into a new house and finally getting out of dingy, depressing Spinner’s End. 

And She was here. Her. The curly-haired former student, former annoyance, former know-it-all who had grown up into a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman. Who he had a crush… no, crush was not the right word. Crush was an adolescent word. A tendre. He had a tendre for her. He liked her. 

How was he supposed to impress her with his frozen daiquiri skills if his blender was not working?! He didn’t want to go back out there empty-handed. Damn the blender! 

“Severus? Is something wrong?” the curly-haired one asked, poking her head into the kitchen. 

He sighed. “The blender is broken,” he admitted. “I can’t make daiquiris.”

“Oh, what a shame!” she said and walked over to his refrigerator and opened it up. “You have everything for mojitos, though—and they don’t require a blender.” 

He smiled, crossing over to her at the fridge. “You’re right. You don’t mind not having a daiquiri?” 

“Well,” she said, handing him limes, mint, and lemon-lime soda, “an authentic daiquiri isn’t frozen. And you have everything for that, too.”

He set the ingredients down on the counter and turned back to her. “My, you are still a little know-it-all, aren’t you?” he asked, reaching above the fridge for the rum. 

She blushed, her cheeks pink. It only made her lovelier. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers before she could reply. He made to move away, but she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him back down, returning the kiss with fervor. 

After a few moments, she released his shirt with a grin. 

“I suppose I don’t mind being your little know-it-all,” she murmured.


	9. Feather Duster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for GS100 challenge - slave for a week

"Severus?" 

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Is there a reason Remus is wearing an abbreviated French maid costume and brandishing a pink feather duster in my study?"

"He owes me." 

"And you can't settle the debt with, say, galleons?"

"He said he'd be a slave for a week."

Exasperated, Hermione leaned over Severus’ desk. “And just what were you wagering on, husband mine?” 

“Come now, you don’t expect me to reveal the terms of a gentleman’s agreement, do you? And who said I’d wagered on anything?” 

“Oh, so Remus just came to you and begged to be your slave for a week?”

 

“I suggest you go and ask him why he’s here. His moral compass is even more crooked than mine; he might be persuaded to reveal something.” 

She sighed and went into her study. 

“Remus, what in Merlin’s name compelled you to do this?” 

He looked up from where he was on his knees dusting under the settee. 

“I will just say that it involves Quidditch, my son, and foolishness.” 

Hermione sank into the settee, giggling madly. 

“Was the costume your idea or his?”

“He thought it would probably amuse you, since you have to deal with me this week.” 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be his slave for a week.” 

“No, Mistress Hermione, I’m yours.” 

The change in his tone of voice told her that there was more going on here than a foolish Quidditch wager. 

“Mine, are you? And what does your wife think about that?” she demanded, taking his chin in her hand and forcing him to look at her. 

“That it’s about time, Mistress. There’s a letter from her on the table.” 

Hermione glanced over to the side table. 

“Very well, pet. You’d better go put your robes back on for dinner, but leave the costume underneath.”

 

Over the course of the week, Hermione found that Remus made a very satisfactory slave. The noises he made when she employed the pink feather duster were delicious, and her study was cleaner than it had been in years. 

His week was up on Saturday. 

“Tell Tonks that I’ve considered what she’s laid out in her letter and I approve,” Hermione said, kissing him on the cheek. “Give her the costume and send her over to Severus’ study in the morning.” 

Remus smiled. “Yes, Mistress.” 

“After all, equality is important in a marriage. Everyone should have the same... opportunities.”


	10. When In Athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding night "good smut" TPP chat challenge. A honeymoon in Athens.

“Five. Fwooping. Portkeys.” Hermione scowled. “FIVE. I’m going to cheerfully murder the idiot at the Ministry responsible for this fiasco.”

“Well, we did get to see Antarctica, Beijing, Dubai, and the Cheops Pyramid. It’s not a complete fiasco,” Severus pointed out, wiggling his toes out of his shoes. “So, Mrs. Snape. Care to join me in the ridiculously large bathtub this suite is reported to have?”

Hermione may have set a world record with how quickly she had her wand out to cast Divestio on both of them before she headed to fill the tub with warm, sandalwood-and-cedar scented water. She dimmed the lights, lit a few candles, and opened up the blinds. A gorgeous view of the Acropolis was visible from the tub.

“I’d open the bottle of complimentary Champagne, but alcohol is just going to put me to sleep,” Severus grumbled, coming into the bathroom. “And I’d hate to leave you wanting on our wedding night.”

He slid into the tub opposite his wife (wife! Lovely!), the scented water having a calming effect on his temper. Hermione smiled and scooted over to straddle her husband’s lap. She settled herself against him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her orange-blossom scented hair.

“I would be just as happy in a yurt in Mongolia as I am in this decadent bath, if you were with me,” he whispered. “But a yurt wouldn’t smell nearly as nice.”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed delightedly. Then she arched her hips against his, and they found that words were no longer necessary.

The next morning, Hermione awoke to Severus nibbling at her neck. She pressed back against him invitingly, moaning softly as he nudged her leg out of the way and slid slowly into her. They rocked together, chasing away the cobwebs of sleep with gasps and whimpers of pleasure.

After a breakfast of mimosas, they went out into Muggle Athens to see what trouble they could get into with Disillusionment Charms in tourist attractions. It turned out they could get into quite a lot.

Spending the first day of their honeymoon locked up in the Athens Ministry while attempting to explain why they forgot a Silencing Charm was a much worse fiasco than five Portkeys.

They went back on every anniversary to do it again. Of course, they remembered the Silencing Charms on subsequent occasions.


	11. When in Athens - Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of a PP chat challenge. Morning after the wedding night, smut, no mention of any body parts.

After dressing in lightweight summer attire, Hermione and Severus made their way out into Athens. It was a cool morning, but promised to end up a scorcher of a day. When they reached the Acropolis, they Disillusioned themselves and slipped past the gaggle of Muggle tourists with their ugly clothes and obnoxious children. They kept contact with each other as they meandered around the Erecthion, heading for the porch of the Maidens, as neither of them much fancied sunburn.

After checking to make sure the spells were still in place, Hermione leaned against one of the statue pillars and pulled Severus against her, fumbling with the waistband of his loose trousers.

“Just think how many other couples have probably snuck up here to do the same thing,” she panted between heated kisses. “Mmmm, history makes me so hot.”

Severus chuckled, pushing her skirt up.

“Wife, you seem to have misplaced your knickers.”

“Oh, no, husband. I know precisely where they are,” she purred.

He growled, adjusting their bodies to give himself better leverage. “Do you want me to fuck you here, wife? In the middle of the morning, in broad daylight, up against a statue on a 2500-year-old porch?”

Hearing her moan and feeling her clutch at his shirt was the only assent he needed. He plunged into her heat with a roar of pleasure, and she curled herself around him, pressing close. Their gasps and cries echoed off the ceiling of the small enclosure, wrapping them in echoes as they hurtled together toward completion.

Hermione screamed out her climax, calling on Athena herself to witness their connubial bliss.

Athena didn’t show up, but as they made their way away from the Maidens’ Porch, a stout Ministry official did. They found themselves packed off to the Greek Ministry to answer a charge of public indecency and lewd conduct.

They managed to get off on a technicality. 

The Porch of Maidens continued to be a favorite anniversary holiday destination, and Hermione always remembered the silencing charms after that.


	12. Mother's Intuition

“This really is the utter limit!”

Severus poked his head out of the study to peer at his wife.

“What? And what is in that obscenely large box?"

“My MOTHER,” Hermione said through clenched teeth, “apparently desires a grandchild. This box is full of my baby things.”

He crouched down beside her, smiling wistfully.

“We have been married for five years, and you are an only child.”

“What I don’t understand is that the woman isn’t a bloody witch or a Seer…”

A mildly shocked expression flitted across Severus’ face.

“This wasn’t how I planned to tell you,” Hermione muttered.


	13. Nothing Promised, No Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding old fic/drabbles on LJ and updating as needed. This one is from round 2 of Snape LDWS.

Bad idea. Worst idea ever, in fact,' he thought, leaning with arms crossed against the cool, cinder-block wall of the Muggle dance club. The bass thumped through his body, the lyrics of the song barely discernible from the booming beats. He had no idea why she wanted to meet him here—and she hadn't even shown up yet. 

All of a sudden, a long-haired girl caught his eye. She was clad in more sombre colours than the flashy, tawdry birds surrounding her, and he was drawn to her understated look and bewitching dance moves. The longer he watched her moving to the music, capturing the theatricality of the Swedish pop group's lyrics, the more intrigued he became. When she executed a graceful turn, her eyes locking to his, she mouthed the lyrics to him, a tilt of her head inviting him onto the dance floor. Her undulating hips, possibly further. 

He sidled onto the floor, bodies parting only slightly at his classroom glare, to reach her side. 

“'Voulez-vous' indeed. You've straightened your hair,” he purred into her ear. 

She flashed him a cheeky smile, singing along, “'I'm really glad you came, you know the rules, you know the game—'”

“'—master of the scene,'” he replied, sliding his long-fingered hands down her sides. “Only you would choose 70's night to proposition me,” he said, leading her from the floor. “Could have at least chosen a Queen song for your seduction instead of this fluffy twaddle.”

“ABBA says it better than I do,” she replied with a smug grin, taking his arm and holding tight as he Apparated them away.


End file.
